


Mr. Right

by ShowMeAHero



Series: The Smithsonian [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, In which Steve is a nervous nellie, M/M, Morphine, Prompt Fill, and Bucky is an asshole but he's a funny asshole, and I would pay to see that video, non-graphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gets injured, and Tony takes his arm in to fix while Bucky recuperates. Bucky takes the opportunity to mine some comedy gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Right

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://bootycap.tumblr.com/post/93265382305/soooo-the-first-time-bucky-goes-on-a-mission-that) by [bootycap](http://bootycap.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

Bucky and Natasha worked really well together as a team. Steve was genuinely pretty delighted by that, that his best friend in this new world and his… Bucky, that they get along so well. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, filling in each others’ spaces, and Phil, as the new director of the fledgling reborn S.H.I.E.L.D., often sent them on missions together. Without Steve. Not that Steve minded, he understood, because the two of them were willing to do things that Steve just wasn’t, but it does mean he spent most of the time they’re on missions together worrying. Usually, his worries ended up being unfounded, and they came back just fine.

This was not one of those cases.

Which is why Steve was currently skidding into the hospital, flying past the front desk to the elevator, Natasha at his heels. She had a cut over one eye, and a dislocated wrist that was cradled to her chest in a sling, but she was otherwise unharmed. Steve punched the floor number that Phil had commandeered and converted into S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical until such time as they could rebuild enough to have their own building. Natasha glanced over at him as the doors slid shut; Steve was bouncing on his heels, tapping his fingertips against his thighs anxiously. She reached out tentatively, moving slowly, making sure Steve could see her, and slipped her uninjured hand into his.

“You have to calm down,” Natasha reminded him. “I told you, he’s going to be fine. He was awake when we brought him in.”

“I know,” Steve replied, ducking his head down to the side to look at her. “I just need…”

When Steve trailed off, and seemed unsure of how to finish the statement he started, Natasha just nodded, and squeezed his hand. Steve blew out a harsh breath and bounced up again, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. When the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, Steve was off like a shot, his hand falling out of Natasha’s, leaving her to follow behind him. He almost fell over the reception desk when the receptionist called out to him to stop him from entering without permission.

“I’m looking for James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said in a rush, and the receptionist typed into her computer. Steve peered over the desk, over-eager, and the woman frowned at him. He leaned back.

“Room 542,” she informed him. “I’m going to need to see your ID, sir.”

Steve ground his teeth together before digging into the pocket of his jeans and unearthing his S.H.I.E.L.D. identification card. He shoved it into the receptionist’s hand, then shut his eyes tightly for a moment. He opened them a split second later.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized firmly. Her expression softened slightly, and she looked over his identification card before scanning the barcode on the back. She held it out to him; he took it back more gently than he gave it.

“If you go down the hallway, take the second right, and go down almost to the end, you’ll find his room,” she instructed, pointing down the hall. Steve inclined his head to her, just the wrong side of being jerky and sharp. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Thank you,” Steve answered, already leaving, following her directions. His long legs and hurried stride left Natasha almost jogging to keep up with him. He took a wrong turn once, and doubled back so fast once he realized that Natasha almost missed his sharp turn-around. Once they found themselves outside of Bucky’s room, he skid to a stop. He looked at the half-open door, and Natasha tentatively took his hand again.

“What if he doesn’t remember himself again?” Steve said, in a low voice. “What if he’s so hurt that he...? Or he thinks he’s with HYDRA again?” Steve paused and took a shaky breath. “What if he doesn’t remember _me_?”

“The first thing he said to me after he went down was, ‘Don’t tell Steve, he’ll kill me,’ so I’m guessing he remembers you just fine,” Natasha informed him. Steve’s grip on her hand thankfully loosened slightly. “In fact, I’d say he remembers you perfectly, because you probably will kill him.”

“I just might,” Steve said, a little stiffly. He laughed softly once. “Can we just go in?”

Natasha squeezed his hand once before releasing him and inching forwards into the gap between the door and the frame. She stuck her head inside, and Steve heard her say something in Russian. Bucky’s voice replied, and Steve’s heart rate increased so fast that he thought his heart was in his throat. Natasha motioned him forward, and Steve pushed the door open and followed her in.

Sure enough, Bucky was awake and seemed to recognize him with no problem. He grinned blearily at Steve, which Steve had not seen a lot of in the twenty-first century but appreciated every time. He looked like a mess, though, and Steve swallowed hard at the sight of him before he moved to his bedside. The right side, because his left arm - the metal arm - was gone. He was covered in bandages, looking like a haphazard Halloween mummy; he had a black eye and plenty of visible bruises and scrapes and scratches on his unbandaged skin. Steve reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Hey,” Steve said weakly. Bucky frowned up at him.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, seemingly genuinely concerned. Steve let out a startled laugh.

“What’s wrong? Jesus, Buck.” Steve took a shallow, shaky breath. “You spent half an hour telling me what a _normal_ mission this was, how you’d be back before dinner, and it’s ten o’clock and Nat comes in looking like she got hit by a truck and tells me I have to come down here, but, no, don’t worry, Steve, it’s fine, don’t worry, it was a _normal mission_ , and I-”

“Whoah, whoah, Steve,” Bucky interrupted, knowing better than anyone when Steve was getting worked up, responding on a seventy-year-old instinct to calm him down before he worked himself into an asthma attack. “It’s okay. I’m alright.”

Steve looked Bucky over again; he never didn’t tell Steve the truth since he had come back, and there was no way Bucky was anything close to alright. But…

But Bucky also loved to make dumbass jokes, even if he didn’t always say them straight out. Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Buck-”

“I’m alright,” Bucky repeated, his grin starting to come back. “Alright. All right.” He let go of Steve’s hand to point at where his left arm was meant to be. “Get it?”

Steve stared at him as Bucky started laughing to himself, clapping his hand over his face. He turned to Natasha, who was tapping at the IV bag.

“Intravenous morphine,” Natasha informed him, which explained Bucky’s behavior. Steve just pat Bucky’s forearm before dragging one of the chairs over to the bedside. Bucky reached out and clapped his hand against Steve’s face.

“I’m Mr. Right,” Bucky said before snorting in laughter. “Two wrongs really _don’t_ make a right because, right, Natalia, Мы сделали две ошибки, и теперь я все в порядке-”

“Right you are, Soldier,” Natasha replied, cutting him off. She pulled his hair back and tied it up into a bun at the back of his head. “Why don’t you get some rest, hmm?”

“But Steve just got here,” Bucky argued. He rolled his head against his pillow until he saw Steve. “See? Hello.”

“Hi, Buck,” Steve answered, trying not to smile. Bucky just kept beaming at him. Steve fought the urge to take a picture on his phone. Natasha was doing no such thing, and taking silent picture after picture.

“You’re _my_ Mr. Right, right?” Bucky asked before realizing what he said and starting to laugh all over again. Natasha was just taking a video at this point.

“I sure am,” Steve assured him. Bucky reached out and grabbed at Steve’s sleeve; Steve grasped his hand and pulled it down to the bed.

“You’re handsome when you’re all worried about me,” Bucky commented, smiling and lazily half-swinging his and Steve’s entwined hands. “Handsome Captain America. Whole world sees the handsome man, but the handsome man’s _mine_.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, his voice tinged with laughter. “Come on-”

“No, handsome man,” Bucky interjected. “Remember that time we were trying to sell oranges we stole and Betty Boyle was flirting with you?”

“I think she just wanted free oranges, Buck,” Steve said. Bucky shook his head.

“No, she was flirting with you, because you were handsome-”

“-I was five-foot-two and ninety-eight pounds and sick as hell-”

“- _and_ you were nice and pretty and blonde and everyone wanted you but _I_ got you then and _I_ get you now and I am-” and here Bucky used his and Steve’s hands to motion to his side again, “- _alright_ with that.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky half-frowned.

“Do you get the joke, Steve?” Bucky asked, yawning. Steve nodded. “Alright. All right. ‘Cause Stark took my arm.”

“I got you, Buck.” Steve pat Bucky’s hand. “Get some rest for me, why don’t you?”

“Yeah, sounds just fine,” Bucky murmured. He grinned at Steve before yawning again and shutting his eyes. “Handsome мужчина, красивый мужчина.”

“This is going on the Internet right the hell now,” Natasha whispered to Steve as soon as Bucky was asleep. Steve fished his phone out of his pocket with the hand Bucky didn’t have in a death grip while he slept.

“Text it to me,” Steve requested, and Natasha Cheshire-grinned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations*:
> 
> Мы сделали две ошибки, и теперь я все в порядке. = We made two mistakes, and now I'm all right.  
> мужчина, красивый мужчина. = man, handsome man
> 
> *Sorry if the translations are shitty, I'm not good with Russian.
> 
>  
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
